


What's Past is Prologue

by lyriumlovesong



Series: The Rabbit and The Lion [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Lyrium Addiction, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 18:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7474923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriumlovesong/pseuds/lyriumlovesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor and Cullen finally tell each other how they feel. </p><p>*confetti*</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Past is Prologue

“So it’s decided then,” Leliana was saying, crossing something off of one of her lists. “We will send aid to Kirkwall in the form of troops to assist them in destroying the remaining lyrium, and my spies will network in Orlais on other matters.”

“Right,” said Freya, who was leaning over the table and looking past the map to Cullen, who was preoccupied with studying a sheet of paper of his own. They had finally reached the end of a long docket of things to discuss, and she was eager to catch the Commander before he retired to his office and got buried in more work. “And I think that should about wrap it up for today’s agenda, correct?”

“I think so,” Leliana replied, nodding. She looked up. “I have ravens to send, it seems.”

As Leliana turned to leave, Freya straightened, looking relieved. She gathered her things as Cullen glanced up for a fraction of a second and shot her a small smile, then headed for the doorway, still shuffling his papers and reading reports.

She made to follow him, but Josephine grabbed her hand.

“Before you go, we should discuss the menu for the Empress’s dinner. There are some things I want to point out that I think could become beneficial points of discussion for you.”

The Ambassador led her by the arm out of the war room and down the steps to her office. Freya watched Cullen exit into the main hall over her shoulder.

_ Creators, give me strength,  _ she thought irritably. She liked Josephine a lot, but the woman did seem to have a knack for finding the worst possible timing to spring tedious details on her.

Josephine handed her a sheaf of fine vellum covered in ornate flourishes and swirling hand-lettered calligraphy. It detailed the food that would be served at the banquet that was to accompany the ball being thrown by Empress Celine of Orlais, and it appeared the Ambassador wanted to go into a great deal of detail about it, judging by the way she was settling comfortably into her chair.

Freya held the menu high enough in front of her face that it concealed her eye-roll and exasperated expression as she sank into the chair opposite the desk. She was going to be here for awhile.

 

_________________________

  
  


An hour later, Freya finally found herself climbing the steps to Cullen’s office. Sunlight glared off the pale stone walls of the high tower. She paused, a hand over her eyes to shield them from the dazzling light, and took a deep breath. She knocked three times, and heard Cullen’s muffled voice beyond the door.

“Come in.”

She opened the door and stepped in, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dimness. Cullen was leaning over his desk, still studying the same stack of reports he’d been buried in at the war table. He glanced up. He wasn’t able to make out the face of his visitor yet, but the lean, petite silhouette in the doorway was unmistakable.

“Inquisitor,” he said, standing straight. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m sorry, are you in the middle of something?” she asked as she leaned backward against the door, latching it closed.

“Nothing that can’t wait,” he answered, stacking his papers and laying them to the side. “Is something the matter? You look like you’re ready to flay someone.”

“Oh,” she said, making a conscious effort to relax her face. “No, everything is fine. I just escaped Josephine’s office. She had me sitting down there for ages, wanting me to memorize the origin of every last little thing we’re to be served at the Winter Palace, from the wine to the table salt.”

“That sounds awful,” the Commander replied, suppressing a chuckle. “What on earth for?”

“She thinks it will be beneficial for me to discuss them with our hosts,” Freya said, this time rolling her eyes without attempting to conceal her irritation. “ _ I hear this corn came all the way from the ass-end of the Free Marches! Allow me to awkwardly segue into some talking points on the importance of farming in Thedas and how we can improve relations with agricultural communities. _ That sort of garbage.”

Cullen really did laugh at this remark, looking sympathetic.

“Maker, you poor thing.”

“By the time she was halfway through the menu, I was ready to tell her I didn’t give a flying fuck if they were serving up the Golden Halla if it meant  _ I _ didn’t have to attend.”

“The what?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“It’s a Dalish legend about a halla with--you know what? It’s not important. I didn’t come here to talk about that. Or Empress Celine’s questionable palate.”

“Alright then,” Cullen said, stepping around to the front of his desk.

“I thought we could talk. Alone.”

“Alone?” he stammered, looking mildly surprised at this. “I mean… of course.”

“How about some fresh air?” Freya asked. “I think better when I'm outside.”

Cullen gestured a hand toward the door, which she reopened, bathing the office once again in sunlight. They stepped out and walked along the battlements, the high snowcapped peaks of the Frostback Mountains looming overhead like huge jagged teeth against the blue sky.

“It’s a… nice day,” Cullen said, running a hand nervously over his neck.

“What?” Freya asked abruptly, turning to look at him. They stopped walking. Wind whistled through the gaps between the merlons, amplifying the awkwardness of their pause in conversation.

“It’s…" He trailed off, looking up at her. "There was something you wished to discuss.”

“You mean you _really_ don't know what I came to talk to you about? Certainly not the weather.”

“I assumed that much,” replied the Commander, looking nervous and turning to walk further. “I... can’t say I haven’t wondered what I would say to you in this sort of situation.”

_That was the under-exaggeration of the age_ , he thought. He'd played this scene over and over again in his head, trying out different expressions of the way he felt about the elf. All of them had sounded stupid in his mind, and he doubted they'd sound any more brilliant if put into practice.

“What’s stopping you?” Freya asked.

“You’re the  _ Inquisitor _ . We’re at war. And you… well, I didn’t think it was possible.”

“And yet I’m still here.” She smiled at him, and he stepped toward her, closing the space between him. He’d never been this close to her before, and he could see little details on her face he’d never been able to make out over the flickering candles of the war room. She had a smattering of freckles across her sunkissed nose, as if the Maker himself had sprinkled them there while she slept. There was a small cut through one eyebrow that was nearly healed over, no doubt a souvenir from her recent excursion into the Emerald Graves. And her eyes were so beautiful in the waning sunlight, long eyelashes shading bright green irises that were flecked with bits of gold and encircled in a dark ring. It was enough to steal his breath from his lungs.

“So you are,” he said, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He slid a hand gently over one of her hips, pulling her to him. “It seems... too much to ask. But I _want_ to.”

Freya saw him lean down toward her, tilting his head. She closed her eyes and waited to feel his lips against hers…

“Commander!”

A door slammed, and one of Cullen’s aides approached him. The Commander pulled away from Freya and turned.

“You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report.”

Cullen growled angrily. “What?”

“Sister Leliana’s report. You wanted it delivered… ‘ _ without delay _ .’”

Cullen’s aide looked up from the paper. The withering look he received left no doubt in his mind about how Rutherford had earned his nickname among the men under his command. The Lion of Skyhold looked as though he was about to tear his throat out. Gulping, he glanced behind the Commander and saw Inquisitor Lavellan leaning against the parapet, looking away, a slight blush on her cheeks. Putting things together at last, he looked back at the Commander and stammered.

“Or… to your  _ office _ !” he said, walking quickly backward in the direction of the tower. “Right!”

Freya heard the aide’s footsteps beating a hasty retreat, and she turned to look at Cullen again.

“If you need to--”

But she had barely started the sentence before her lips were enveloped in his, and she reeled backward, her head swimming as his hand slid up to rest gently on her neck. He pressed her back to the stone, his stubble scratching lightly against her cheek. He tasted faintly of ale, and mixed with the dizzying surprise of the moment, the Inquisitor felt very much like she’d had a few pints herself. She placed a hand around him, steadying herself.

Cullen pulled back from her and looked sideways, avoiding her gaze briefly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding out of breath. “That was… _really_ nice.”

“I  _ believe _ that was a kiss,” said Freya, grinning at him. “But I can’t be sure--it’s all a blur.”

He chuckled, cupping her cheek in his hand again. “Yes, well…”

He pulled her in again, kissing her even more deeply. It had been such a long time since he had done this, and he wasn’t sure how far to take things. But to his delight, he felt Freya’s lips part slightly, inviting his tongue between them. He obliged, shifting his grip to the back of her neck and sliding his other arm all the way around her waist. A stirring in the pit of his belly told him he shouldn’t get much more carried away, and after a few seconds he came up for air.

“Was that one a little bit clearer?” he asked, smiling.

“Yes,” said Freya with a laugh, nodding. “I think I got it that time.”

She was resting a hand against the breastplate of his armor, tracing the embossed outlines.

“I’m glad we got this out in the open,” she told him. “I felt like I was going to explode. A girl can only get flirted on so long, you know.”

“After our conversation yesterday about… about the lyrium,” Cullen said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, “I wasn’t sure if… I thought you might be upset with me. It made me question whether you were even interested anymore.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head emphatically. “That was never about you. I mean, it  _ was _ , but I wasn’t angry.”

“What was it, then?”

“Fear.”

“Fear?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Wait, you actually feel  _ fear _ ? Damn, I owe Varric three silver.”

Freya rolled her eyes, playfully hitting Cullen’s shoulder.

“Shut up,” she said. “Of course I do. You don’t interact with dragons and darkspawn and Cassandra Pentaghast and not feel fear. Not unless you’re an idiot.”

“Agreed,” he laughed, the lines around his eyes crinkling. It made her feel even more like she was slowly melting into a puddle right there on the parapet.

“I wasn't afraid for myself, Cullen. I was… I  _ am _ afraid for  _ you _ .”

“Because of the lyrium?”

Freya nodded.

“It’s not that I think you’re making the wrong choice, or that you’re not strong enough. I support you in this decision, and I don’t want you to _ever_ doubt that. I  _ know _ you can do this. But I just started thinking about what it could mean if you… if the withdrawal affects you badly.”

“You mean if I can’t lead the troops?”

“What? No,” she answered, furrowing her brow. “I don’t give a damn about that. I mean, I  _ do _ , but not everything is about this sodding Inquisition, Cullen. I meant what it could mean for  _ you _ . I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Cullen looked into her eyes, his expression sympathetic.

“I know exactly how you feel,” he told her. “When we found you half-buried in the snow after Haven, I carried you all the way back to our camp. You were wrapped up in my mantle, shivering uncontrollably. I thought... we’d lost all those people, and now  _ you _ weren’t going to make it, on top of everything else. We’d staked your life on a gamble for nothing. The only person who could close the rifts, and, more importantly, the only person I really  _ cared _ about beyond our mission. It felt like someone was squeezing my heart in a vice.”

He ran a gloved thumb along her cheek.

“I can’t promise you this won’t be hard. What I  _ can _ promise you is that I will fight it. I’ll fight like a damn Avvar against this leash. I have good reason now, beyond our duties to Thedas.”

Freya felt a stinging sensation behind her eyes and blinked them several times. When she felt confident that she could speak without her voice wavering, she wrapped her hand around Cullen’s.

“And I promise to be here for you through it, whatever you need. You can come to me for anything, any time. I  _ want _ you to come to me. You shouldn’t do this alone.” 

He smiled at her lovingly.

“Thank you, Inquisitor.”

“Oh, and _that_? That has to stop. You’ve had your tongue in my mouth, so outside of official Inquisition business I’m just Freya now. I swear, if anyone tries to give me another title, I’ll open all the breaches again and let Corypheus have them.”

Cullen chuckled and leaned down again.

“Whatever pleases you, Freya,” he said, and pulled her into one last, soft kiss.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
